Golden Angels
by 7.06andcounting
Summary: One shot. After a bad day at work, all Steve needs is to do is to close up the DX, hit the shower and relax. Written as a response to K Nefertiti's suggestion.


Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders.

Written as a response to Nefertiti's suggestion.

Please let me know what you think. All comments welcome. I mean it. There's a reason. :)

* * *

Steve Randle yawned and stretched, twisting his neck from side to side. He'd spent the better part of the afternoon underneath a Buick that some idiot had driven into an ludicrously early grave and he was tired and grouchy. He looked around the empty gas station, running his hand through his greased back, blond hair, destroying the carefully positioned swirls. In about five minutes he could call it quitting time and head on over to the Curtis house.

He swore under his breath as he realized he'd had oil all over his hand. He tried to see his reflection in the Buick's wing mirror. _Shit! _He looked like a frigging zebra now. He wiped his hands angrily on the rag tucked into his pocket.

Steve shoved the various tools littering the place back in their correct slots on the board and in the drawers, knowing he'd only be pissed at himself if he couldn't find anything in the morning. There was a wrench missing. The smallest one. The one he'd used...about an hour ago.

He began a long, inventive list of descriptions of said wrench, as he hunted under the piles of crap that seemed to accumulate whenever Sodapop had been working out the back. Eventually, he had to admit defeat and scoot back under the Buick, although he knew perfectly well he hadn't left the goddamn thing under there.

It wasn't there.

Steve pulled himself out from under the car too quickly and hit his head. His language hit an all time high of inventiveness as he clutched his head. When he felt how tender it was, he looked at his hand in disbelief. Blood. Now he was going to have a fucking _pink_ strip running through his pale gold hair too.

By this point, the world and Steve Randle were at serious odds. He kicked the workshop door closed and locked up. If there had still been a customer around, he would likely have kicked them out, regardless of whether they were done. Luckily for the customers, the place was still empty.

When he flung himself irately into his car, he immediately found the wrench. He didn't have the energy to even swear as he fished it out of his pocket and tossed it onto the passenger seat. Backing out, he caught a glimpse of his tri-colored hair in the rear view mirror. _Fuck._

He could already hear Two-Bit's voice. The word 'clown' featured heavily in the wisecrack he was imagining.

Soda was lounging on the front porch when he pulled up. Soaking up the sun that had already turned his hair wheat-gold for another summer. "Hey." He grinned. "...took ya long enough."

Steve stalked past him. "Shower," he snapped, not breaking his stride. As a blessing, Two-Bit did not appear to be in the house.

In the bathroom, he stood under the hot water, not thinking, not moving, just letting the day wash away. Finally, he picked up the shampoo and attacked his head, wary of the cut that was stinging as the bubbles worked their way in. He'd been using this house, this bathroom for so long that it felt like home to him. Enough that he was hacked to find someone – Ponyboy, no doubt – had left all the towels in a damp heap.

He picked the least soggy towel, rubbed his hair gently, then wrapped it around his middle and investigated the cut, peering in the mirror. It was no longer bleeding. Miraculously, the engine oil had disappeared along with the pomade. It was darker, because it was wet, but his hair was back to a solid blond all over.

Steve pulled on his jeans and headed out to the porch, joining Soda in the late evening sunlight. He lit up a weed and finally felt like his day was drawing to a close. Even at this hour, there was enough warmth in the sun that he felt his hair beginning to dry out.

He hadn't bothered to steal any of Soda's hair grease so, instead of complicated swirls, the pale gold strands dried straight as he pushed them back from his face.

The two of them leaned back, eyes closed, basking in the final rays.

"Look at you two," Darry said, striding up the path and taking the steps in two bounds. "What did Mom used to call you? Her two little golden angels? Shoot..." He paused briefly in the doorway, as they opened their eyes and looked at him. He grinned,"...almost like she didn't know you at all!"


End file.
